It’s time to leave guys. Party’s over. Thanks for coming. Everyone enjoy their long weekends, ok? Hmm. Everyone’s a little buzzed, huh? I’ll call you a car. What do you mean you’re not leaving? Staying here? That’s crazy, Miles. I don’t think I can. My roommates are kind of dicks. Whoa, be cool man. Just relax. No one wants to fight here tonight. I’m just going to politely ask you all again to leave. Put that down. Put it down! I don’t do knifeplay. Ok, you win. You can stay. I’ll get some sheets from the linen closet. Breakfast will be ready at 9. If you miss it, you miss it.
We’ve just gotten our hands on an advance copy of “The Elf Prince” by Todd McClimans. As usual, McClimans turns up the heat and gives us everything we could want out of a fantasy novel - sex, murder, mystery and poetry. For a sequel, this is about as good as it gets.
We’ve all got dreams. Here’s one of mine that I’d like to share with you.
If Abraham Lincoln was into blondes I feel like he’d have been really sexually and morally confused after meeting this young starlet. Great suit. Wear it up North, mama. I’ll try my best to protect you - but no promises.
The craziest day of this squirrel’s life had to be spent in some crazy Belgian lady’s 9th floor walk-up apartment and not in a tree with a two fine squirrel women. Life isn’t fair.
The Wizard’s Ridge office has just installed a new security system to replace our inherently flawed previous system, which you can read about below. If you think you’re taking our treasures, you’re wrong.
Oh my god, I know. I just got back to the office. Yeah isn’t i- Oh my god. What the fuck happened in here?! Gary? Melissa? Any answers? Derek? Patches? Of COURSE not. I’m finishing my phone call. Pick up every one of these cherries. Now. If they’re not all back in the red tins by the time I’m done talking to the West coast office you’re all fired. Yeah, roll your eyes Melissa. Jesus. Sorry, I’m back.
Diane was a deeply religious woman. She was worried the camera at the Sears Photo Shop might steal her soul. Ramsey didn’t give a shit about that. His soul left his earthly body the day he bought Cowboys From Hell by Pantera.
What are you laughing at, Anna? Yeah, it’s all a joke. Welcome to Anna’s comedy show. Pizza pie, pizza pie, pizza pie. What pie did that slice you’re eating even come from? All I see left are whole pies. You ate a pie by yourself? Jesus, Anna. Did you tell your mother this shit? Wait until she gets home. We’re all in deep shit. All of us, Anna. What am I gonna do with 8 pizza pies and a drunk kid? What am I gonna do? Call your uncle Angelo. Tell him we’re in trouble.
I want this song to play whenever I land in a plane on a tropical island for some high-stakes card game or something. It’d have to be crazy eights, war, speed, go fish or 5 card draw poker. Maybe some gin rummy. Why the fuck not? I’m on vacation.
This is like Spanish class…except with some balls.
From now on I want to be called Chao Yai. No exceptions.
This is what happens when you fuck around on a high-powered machine.
Well look who got all dressed up. Got a date tonight, Ben? Yeah I bet you do, dirtbag. Listen, I’m having Meredith over for dinner tonight so I’m going to need you to not bother us. Barnes and Noble is open until like 5am or whatever so just hang out there until we’re done having sex in your room. Talk to you later.
I woke up next to this “gentleman” on Saturday morning. I’d gone to a wine tasting with a few highschool buddies and this dude rolls up and says “Let’s make this happen. My bike’s parked outside.” Who was I to say no? Next thing I remember we’re doing 90 mph on his motorcycle (I was in a sidecar with my hands bound) and he was visibly drunk, even falling asleep for miles at a time. If my mouth hadn’t been taped I would have screamed to wake him up.
Eventually, he pulled over so he could take a leak and I tried to make a run for it. I must have gotten about 100 yards before he finally chased me down, sat on my chest and screamed at me for what seemed like at least an hour. His rant went from extolling the views of Louis Farrakhan to some of his favorite John Carpenter films and ended with him trying to do one of those lengthy psychoanalyses on me like Hannibal Lecter did to Jodie Foster. He was wrong about virtually everything too, which I got a kick out of. But it was to be expected, I suppose. His breath smelled like Wild Turkey and I noticed a hospital bracelet on his left wrist. He’d obviously done time in the psych ward.
I told him I’d be cool. He obviously didn’t trust me so I had to repeat this weird oath he’d made up in what sounded like Latin but was definitely just bullshit. Then he blindfolded me and took me to this sex dungeon kind of thing somewhere on the Upper West Side. When I woke up, he was laying on the floor looking surprisingly peaceful. I tried to strangle him to death but he was already dead. Turns out he overdosed on the crystal meth I’d sold him back at the winetasting. Talk about luck! I ran out into the street, wearing only the beach towel he’d draped me in and hailed a pedal cab back to the Bronx. I literally just walked in the door. What a night!
